


Der kleine Tod

by being_alive



Series: Kleine Tode [1]
Category: Elisabeth - Levay/Kunze
Genre: F/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 18:22:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12587860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/being_alive/pseuds/being_alive
Summary: You don't actually want to die, just to see if he, if Death the man, will show up. You've found yourself thinking of him more and more lately, needing to know if he really is Death or if he ever really existed at all.





	Der kleine Tod

**Author's Note:**

> Happy belated Halloween!

You stand in your bedroom, looking down at the bottle of pills you'd bought off of a classmate well-known to sell anything anyone would need, whether it be to get high and just have some fun, to focus better or to sleep, or even to die. You think the pills in the bottle are sleeping pills, but you're not entirely sure. Your classmate had just pulled a bottle of out their backpack without actually telling you what they were and demanded payment. You had asked for sleeping pills, but you don't really trust your classmate enough not to wonder if that's all that's in there. You wonder if your classmate thinks you're going to kill yourself, and in a way he's not wrong because your goal is death, but not in the way most people would think.

You don't actually want to die, just to see if he, if Death the man, will show up. You've found yourself thinking of him more and more lately, needing to know if he really is Death or if he ever really existed at all.

You look up and glance around your room, wondering exactly how far you'll have to go before he shows up, if he shows up at all. You sigh, looking down at the bottle of pills. 

When you look back up, you're no longer alone in the room.

"You've grown up," Death says, looking you over from head to foot and back up again, "I dare say that you've grown to be even more beautiful than your aunt."

It's been years since you last saw him, since you were just a child and one of your aunts became so ill that your parents had gone into the city, taking you with them, in order to help her while she was ill. It was likely your aunt would have recovered if it had not been for the man in front of you, Death incarnate. Your parents had thought that the man in front of you was simply employed in her service and you had initially thought the same until the night you'd gotten up, unable to sleep, and found him leaning over your aunt's sickbed, one hand cradling the back of her head as he pressed his lips to hers. He'd been nice enough to you, always sparing a moment when you were bored or lonely or just wanted someone to talk to, so you simply turned and walked back to your room, unable to shake the feeling you were intruding upon something you weren't meant to see. The next morning, your aunt was dead and he was gone.

"It's good to see you again," you say, blushing slightly from his compliment, turning and setting the bottle down on your nightstand before turning back to him and trying not to stare so openly. You don't remember him being this attractive the last time you saw him, though it's likely you were simply too young to fully appreciate him. He's tall, taller than you, and clad all in black, dressed in a long black jacket, a black button-up shirt, tight black trousers that all but cling to his long legs, and black boots. You look up at his face, noting the contrast between his pale face and shoulder-length blond hair and with his dark clothing. He's prettier than you are, you note with a slight twinge of jealousy, looking at his face, at his high cheekbones, at his green eyes framed by dark eyelashes longer than your own, at his mostly straight but slightly-upturned nose, and at his broad mouth.

"It's been a long time since I saw you last," he begins, looking down at the bottle of pills in your hands, "And I would ask how things were going, but I gather not too well, with how badly you wished to see me."

"I'm just lonely," you say simply after a moment of trying to think of something to say. It's not a lie, however, because you _are_ lonely. You don't have many friends at school and your parents are in the city for the weekend.

"Then kiss me, and you'll never been lonely again," Death says, smiling.

You glance at the soft curve of his lips, so tempted to kiss him and wishing that there was some way for you to without losing your life in the process. 

Instead, your eyes meet his as you ask, "Is it just kissing that could end my life, or other things as well?" 

"'Other things'? Such as?" Death asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes. Other things like touching," you say, cheeks beginning to turn pink.

"No, just touching is harmless. Why do you ask?"

You know by the tone of his voice that he's close to piecing together your reason for asking about touching so you decide to quit beating around the bush and ask, "Even if the touching is...intimate in nature?"

"Is this why you wanted to see if I would come? So that you could seduce me?" Death asks, the corners of his lips curling up into a smile.

"Not in the beginning. Like I said, I was lonely. However, I had forgotten how handsome you are," you say in return, cheeks turning even more pink than before.

"Oh?" Death asks, stepping closer to you.

"Yes," you say, meeting him halfway.

"Kiss me," Death says, lips a hair's-breadth away from yours.

"No," you say, turning your head away, trailing one hand down his stomach until you reach his belt. You shake your head to clear it, reminding yourself that getting caught up in the moment would mean the end of everything. You bring your other hand around to join the first, at his belt, working on undoing it.

"Too bad. See? I can touch you," he says, bare hands trailing up your arms to your face. He cups your face in his long, thin hands and you look up at him, your eyes meeting his green ones. His hands are warmer than you would have thought them to be, for the physical manifestation of death, though not as warm as a normal man's would be. You inhale sharply, struck once more by how handsome, how inhumanly beautiful he is, even as you you unbuckle his belt and pull it through the loops of his trousers. You toss his belt elsewhere in your bedroom before unbuttoning the small button on his black trousers, slipping one hand inside. He's not wearing anything underneath, but why would he need to? You doubt Death would suffer something so mortal as chafing. 

Death lets out a small, sharp gasp as your hand closes around his cock. He's not hard yet, but you intend to change that. He doesn't feel small, but you want to see him fully in order to see exactly what you're getting into (or perhaps more accurately, what'll be getting into you), so you pull your hand away just long enough to tug his trousers down far enough to free his cock.

Death's hands fall away from your face, instead resting on your shoulders as your hand returns to his cock. You look down, eyes drawn to his cock and your hand around it. He's long, longer than you'd expected even while flaccid, and so thick your fingers can just barely touch around him. 

Death moans, shakily, a surprisingly human noise, as you begin stroking him, working him to hardness, slowly but surely. 

You've just found a nice rhythm of stroking him when Death abruptly grabs your wrist and pulls your hand away from his now fully-hard cock, hurriedly saying, "Stop."

You look at him, confused, eyebrows raised.

"I would prefer not to reach completion this way," he says, chuckling, green eyes meeting yours.

"Oh," you say, nodding in understanding.

"Yes," he says, "Now...Why don't we get undressed?"

You nod in agreement, hands going to the hem of your nightgown, grasping it so that you can pull it up, over your head, and off.

In the time it's taken you to pull your nightgown over your head, he's somehow managed to rid himself of all of his clothes. You stare at him, first in astonishment until you remember that he's not exactly human, and then in appreciation. He's lean, but not overly thin, though you can see the slightest hint of his ribs. You let your eyes travel from his face, down his torso, down to his cock. Desire throbs inside of you at the thought of having him inside of you, filling you. You pull your gaze away from his cock regretfully, trailing down his long legs and then back up to his face. 

Death is looking at you with as much desire in his gaze as you're sure is in yours as well. All you were wearing underneath your nightgown was a simple pair of blue underwear, so you stand before him nearly completely bare, nipples drawn into stiff peaks by the cold air in your room.

Death walks around you, looking at you from every side, caressing you with his burning gaze before stopping behind you. He draws close to you, pressing himself against you. You gasp at the feeling of his cock pressing against you, hot, probably the warmest part of him, rubbing against the skin above the waistband of your light blue underwear. His hands trail up your arms, across your shoulders, and then down, cupping your breasts. 

You let out a shaky moan as his thumbs brush across your nipples, so lightly you can hardly feel it before gently pinching your nipples between the thumb and forefinger of each hand, rolling and rubbing them between his fingers.

You moan once more, head falling back against his shoulder. Death grinds his cock against you, slowly and purposefully, as one of his hands moves away from your breasts, trailing down your stomach, sliding down past the waistband of your underwear, and to between your thighs. You part your legs slightly farther apart to allow him better access. His hand brushes across one of your thighs and then settles between them, one long finger slipping inside of you while his thumb finds your clit. You moan as he rubs circles around your clit before adding a second finger inside of you. He moves his fingers inside of you, matching the movements of his thumb on your clit. 

It's almost embarrassing how aroused you are, how wet you are, when all you've had inside inside of you so far are his fingers.

Just when you're beginning to come close to reaching your tipping point, Death slides his fingers out of you, and slides his hand out of your underwear. You moan in disappointment as he first pushes your underwear down. You step out of them and both of his hands go back up to your shoulders and then he's turning you around with him, guiding you towards the bed. He pushes you onto the bed and you land on your stomach, bouncing slightly before quickly moving yourself into a better position, but still remaining on your hands and knees. You wait for him to make the next move but don't have to wait long because then he's joining you on the bed, kneeling behind you. He rests one hand on your hip and moves in closer to you, rubbing the broad head of his cock against the opening of your sex. You moan, the sound coming out high-pitched and needy. You can hear Death chuckle behind you but you don't really care because he's pushing into you, slowly filling you with his cock, inch by inch until he's fully sheathed inside of your sex.

You moan, louder than you have before, at the feeling of having him inside of you, at the feeling of being so full. He groans, low in his throat, and then begins thrusting into you, pulling away and then slamming back in.

The thought occurs to you then that while others have talked about dancing or flirting with death, you're actually fucking Death, or more accurately, Death is fucking you. You want to laugh, but then the head of his cock hits a spot inside of you that makes you moan instead. You'd already been so close before that all it takes for you to reach your tipping point is for his cock to hit that spot once more. You all but scream out a moan, bunching up the comforter of your bed between your fingers, as pleasure overtakes you, burning and pulsing low inside of you as your sex clenches around Death's cock.

He moans, the sound coming out shakily, and continues thrusting inside of you, harder and faster before, drawing out your peak even more. Just when your orgasm has subsided, the hand he had been resting on your hip trails around, dipping between your thighs, searching out your clit and finding it. You moan as his fingers brush against the sensitive skin of your clit, stroking you to a second orgasm. It takes longer for this orgasm to reach you than your first one, but still not very long, between his hard, thick cock inside of you and his fingers between your legs. You moan just as loud as before, mentally thanking God and Jesus and whoever else is listening that your parents are out of town, especially when Death joins you in the moaning as he spills inside of you, cock pulsing and throbbing as you clench around him, the walls of your sex milking him for all he's worth. 

Once both your orgasm and his subside, Death pulls out of you and then away from you, getting off of the bed. You roll onto your back and then sit up, breathing deeply and simply watching him.

"Are you sure you won't kiss me?" Death asks, leaning in close to you, tipping your chin up with his fingers.

"I'm sure," you say, turning your head away from him.

"That's too bad. You've already had little deaths tonight, so why not a larger one as well?" He asks, leaning in even closer.

"There's a big difference between having an orgasm and actually dying," you say, looking back at him.

He simply laughs in reply, turning to pick up his discarded clothes.

"Will I see you again?" You ask, watching Death as he pulls his clothes back on.

"Yes," he says without looking up from buttoning his shirt.

"But when?" You ask.

"Perhaps soon, perhaps later," he says, glancing at the bottle of pills before looking up at you, eyes meeting yours, "Or perhaps whenever you need me."


End file.
